I wrote a "Letter to my addiction" a few months after getting sober (drug of choice: cocaine):

It's taken me a while to get to know you; you seem to have many faces. I still haven't seen them all.

When we first met, you were different. You were friendly and approachable. You were sociable and fun to hang around with, easygoing and always ready for a good time.

You accepted me for who I was; you didn't pressure me. You were the person I wanted you to be, needed you to be. You were the only person who I felt could really understand me, and because of this I trusted you.

You gave me the space to be me; you were low maintenance, let me have other friends and hobbies and interests.

But you were only biding your time; I must congratulate you on your patience and endurance. You got to know my weaknesses, you learned how to manipulate me. Once you had me figured out you changed, demanding more of me: my time, my money, my relationships, and my soul.

You took me for a ride.

You were everything I wanted you to be for so long that when you changed you had me in your pocket. I needed you: who you used to be, and at first I didn't see you change your colours. When I did see it, I denied it. I lied to myself about it. I didn't want to believe, I didn't want to see how you were changing. But eventually I had to admit it to myself: you were no longer the same.

I thought I could still change you. I didn't want to let you go, the memory of who you used to be was too beautiful! We could still work this out; there had been some innocent misunderstanding somewhere along the way: a simple mistake.

My friends (those that you hadn't gotten to) and family said you were bad for me, but separating would hurt too much, so I chose you over them; traitor that you made me.

While I was trying to change you, you were changing me. By the time I realised this it was too late: I was in too deep.

You shouted me, beat me, raped me into the person you wanted me to be, needed me to be. I ran away, but I had to come back, over and over.

My family couldn't let go of who I once was, and they tricked me away from you, away from your house. I left a lot behind: things I value, things I'm sorry to lose, things that don't mean anything to you.

Nothing means anything to you.

I've had some time now to get some perspective. My wounds are mostly scars now. They ache sometimes, but most days I feel whole. I see your face around, flirting with strangers, bedding my old friends. I see you glance my way and wink. It hurts to resist but I do it anyway: I think I've learned my lesson.